The Templars had existed in secret after their public dismantling and persecution in 1312, when the few surviving members loyal to Pope Clement V agreed to become the clandestine arm of the Church. The order had aroused considerable resentment because of its power and financial success, so this newly created group would remain hidden, carrying out its duties in obscurity rather than in the public’s eye. Rumors would occasionally circulate of Templars in action, but they were always quickly hushed-up by the Church — which got to write the history books. Within a hundred years the Templars became nothing more than a legend, and from that point to the present, they would remain a shadow group that answered only to the Pope.
Beyond coordinating their affairs, Luca’s duties also included working in tandem with the Order of the Holy Relic, which, as tradition demanded, had to be afforded the greatest respect and reverence. Why, Luca could not really say — but that had been the multi-century edict handed down to those who had risen to the ultimate levels of authority. It had been that way forever, and there were some tenets one never questioned.
But centuries of calm had been overturned during the last few days. The Chamber Room at the Abbey had been breached and the Scroll had been stolen. The perpetrators remained unknown, although just today, the name of Professor Winston Twain had surfaced through the repentant, albeit forced, confession of a wayward member of the Order. That would have ordinarily been sufficient for Luca to mobilize resources; however, almost as soon as they’d discovered the professor’s identity, they’d been alerted that he was dead.
That brought them to a standstill — impotent — during the greatest crisis the Order had ever encountered. Which was why Luca was now in a car on his way to a meeting with Colonel Gabriel Synthe, a man who he disliked on principle. Synthe was an atheist and believed in nothing, as far as Luca could tell. That absence of faith made him a loose cannon. If you believed in nothing, then you were the center of the universe in your own mind — a state of affairs that was anathema to the beliefs Luca had devoted his life to protecting and nurturing.
A man without belief in God, or conviction in a supernatural realm outside of his own scope of understanding, was a danger. A man who operated on rogue solipsism, who negotiated through life as a virtual narcissist, could therefore only be motivated by the coarsest of principles.
Diego Luca sighed as he sat in the back of his limousine. His driver, Brother Misto, navigated silently to the meeting destination. The phone in the center console of the back seat warbled.
Luca picked it up. “Yes, sir,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
The voice that responded was deep; soothing, but forceful. Luca recognized it as the Religious Protector, His Beatitude Metropolitan Justinian — the head of the Knights Templar worldwide.
“I assume we have little progress,” the Religious Protector stated without rancor.
“That is correct, sir. The traitor wasn’t in good health, and he didn’t provide any real information before he slipped into a coma, beyond his interaction with Professor Twain.”
“I understand from the transcript that he did have some things to say — they just didn’t make any sense,” His Beatitude observed.
“Yes. If you’ve read it, you know all about the gibberish. ‘Eyes are upon you’ and ‘beware Rosenkreuz and Loyola’. I think the poor man was trying to throw out anything he could think of to shield himself from blame. I can’t see how the Rosicrucians have any hand in this, nor the Jesuits.”
There was a beat as the voice on the other end of the line made a humming sound.
“Perhaps. I’m calling to underscore that it’s critical that you and Colonel Synthe cooperate completely with each other, my son. You are aware of the importance of the Scroll, but you do not know its full significance.”
“Your eminence has never seen fit to include me in this confidentiality,” Luca said.
“Not you, nor others of your rank and stature before you — you shouldn’t take it personally,” the voice said consolingly. “But the Scroll must be recovered, and obstacles to that recovery must be surmounted at all costs.”
“Understood. I’ll work with Colonel Synthe closely until the matter is resolved,” Luca said — perhaps too forcefully, he thought.
“Keep me advised.”
That was the second telephone conversation that the Religious Protector and Luca had conducted in the past few days. It was unprecedented.
Luca knew precious little about the Holy Scroll, even after the briefing that followed his promotion to his rank in the Templars. The sum of his knowledge could fit in a thimble — that it was sacred, that the Order was to protect it at all costs, and that it was part and parcel to the Voynich Manuscript. He was also aware that the language of the Voynich was regarded as an important and yet unsolved puzzle at the highest level of the Church, but he didn’t know why.
Regardless, he had his marching orders, and he would do what needed to be done. Luca was sixty years old, possessed of piercing blue eyes and a powerful build running to fat. He considered himself a principled individual, erring towards pragmatism.
As they approached their venue, Luca stared ahead at the car Synthe had arrived in and prepared himself for the dialogue to come.
“This is fine, Brother,” Luca said to his driver.
The limousine came to a halt. Luca got out. Synthe was smoking a cigarette and lounging against his own vehicle, his expression wary as he watched Luca approach him. Perhaps he, too, is leery of this meeting, Luca thought.
The Grand Commander stopped a few feet in front of Synthe, and both men sized each other up.
“Good to see you again, Colonel,” Luca said.
“Yes, you too,” Synthe said.
A moment of silence hung in the air before Luca spoke again.
“Have you been apprised of the nature of this meeting, Colonel?” Luca asked.
“Other than the loss of the relic, not a thing,” Synthe said, tossing his cigarette away and standing to his full height of over six feet, no longer lounging. “I assume I’m here to kill someone.”
Israeli humor, Luca surmised.
“Not exactly,” Luca said. “I’ll bring you up to date on what’s transpired so far.”
Luca relayed briefly what they’d gleaned about the theft of the Scroll and the ongoing investigation of possible perpetrators, including the recently deceased professor.
“Then it’s worse than expected. We don’t have much to go on,” Synthe said. “Was Twain murdered, or was his death coincidental to these events?”
“Unknown at this time,” Luca admitted. “We do know that he has a daughter, but where she might be…” Luca shrugged. “We’re trying to find her.”
Synthe considered this. “And the purpose for my presence here is?”
“To alert you that, as of now, every waking moment needs to be directed to recovering the Scroll. This unfortunate event took place on your watch. It’s time to earn the substantial pay you’ve been collecting. You have a suitable background for this sort of investigation — I don’t. But hopefully, together we can figure out who has the Scroll and recover it before any damage can be done,” Luca concluded.